The Red Horse
by razztaztic
Summary: Revelations 6:1 "And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see." The Second Horseman is here.
1. Chapter 1

_(If you follow me for _Bones_ fanfic, this is not related to that show so feel free to click away now.)_

_Hello, _Sleepy Hollow_ fans! I'm MJ and as you can see by the story list on my profile, I write mostly _Bones_-related fanfiction. This is my first attempt at writing for _Sleepy Hollow_ and it is a very special project for one of my dearest friends. Sherri won a contest sponsored by "Persephone Magazine," an online women's blog I write for occasionally, and for which I offered a fanfic written to the winner's specifications. As it happens, we're both big fans of _SH_ (Seriously, "My name is Ichabod Crane" may be the sexiest opening line of any show on TV right now, and the way he says 'leftenent?' Guh. Don't get me started.) and when she asked for something for that show, I was both excited and a bit nervous at stepping outside my comfort zone. It has taken longer than I anticipated to find the right voice for that world and Sherri has been more than patient with my feet-dragging, but finally, here it is. At least the first chapter, anyway._

_With much love, Sherri, here's your story! I hope you enjoy it!_

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Wrenched suddenly from sleep, Ichabod sat up in bed abruptly. Heart pounding, a thin film of sweat cooling on his body, he looked warily around the dark room, searching for the source behind his rude awakening.

Nothing.

Uneasy, he lay down again, his head motionless as his eyes darted back and forth, searching the shadows that filled the small lakeside cabin. As the minutes passed his pulse slowly returned to normal and still he remained awake. Finally, he gave up altogether on the prospect of additional sleep.

His bare toes curled into the well-worn hardwood floor as he padded quietly to the kitchen, dressed only in the long linen shirt that did double-duty as a nightshift. He instinctively looked around for a brace of candles or an oil lamp before memory returned . . . The year was 2013. Electricity.

_Electricity_. The word played silently in his head as he crossed the room to the switch on the opposite wall. _How astounding that the old reprobate Franklin was actually -_

One arm flew up to shield his eyes as the overhead fixture filled the room with a blinding white light. He turned it off immediately, lowering his arm slowly and blinking as his vision adjusted instead to the moonlight shining through the windows. His expression changed rapidly to a frown when he noticed the freshly washed and still damp breeches stretched over the back of a chair. _Having no change of clothing is becoming extraordinarily inconvenient_, he huffed inwardly.

He shook his head; a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a snort escaped. _As is this habit of holding silent conversations within your own head, Crane. If you're not careful, you'll join those poor souls who fill Bedlam, lost to the grip of madness and insanity. _

He pivoted toward the window at the faint sound of a horse's whinny. Dread weighed his legs with stone as he approached the glass and pulled back the lacy white curtain. His fingers tightened on the thin fabric.

On the hilltop just beyond the cabin, standing in a moonbeam as bright as a spotlight was a large horse. Its crimson coat glowed like fire, the vibrant hue shifting as if alive with dancing flames. A darkly threatening figure sat on the animal's back, clad in a sinister combination of leather battle gear and dull grey armor that glinted faintly with a scarlet reflection of the horse's hide. A heavy cowl covered the warrior's head and disguised his features but Ichabod knew, as he stood transfixed at the window, that the empty eyes stared back at him.

As he watched in horror, the creature stretched one arm up, the long silver sword in his hand pointing high into the air. Tangled, messy black braids escaped the hood when he threw back his head and howled into the night with all of the fury of demons.

Ichabod reacted instinctively. "No!"

Heedless of his bare feet and legs and his almost unclothed state, he raced for the door and hurried outside and down the steps of the narrow back porch that ran the length of the cabin. Pine needles and rocks dug into the soles of his feet as he stumbled up the hill, his progress marked by the mocking soundtrack of laughter from the ominous visitor at the top of the rise. Before he'd gained even a few yards, the horseman dug his heels into the ruby flanks of the steed and wheeled away, out of sight.

Finally, Ichabod reached the summit and, chest heaving breathlessly, looked around frantically, searching the surrounding woodland in vain for the creature and his rider before hurrying back down the hill to the cabin.

"Telephone," he muttered to himself as he switched on the light and ignored the initial unwelcome brightness. "Where is that infernal . . . aha!" He located the small black rectangle on the counter, on top of a white sheet of paper efficiently labeled in Abbie's neat, slanted handwriting: INSTRUCTIONS.

His slender, aristocratic fingers trembled slightly as he fumbled with the correct buttons before, finally, he was rewarded as the welcome tones of a ringing phone met his ear.

"Hello?" Abbie's sleepy voice drifted toward him.

"Leftenent." Squaring his shoulders, Ichabod drew a deep breath as his posture straightened formally. "Let me first offer my sincerest apologies for disturbing your slumber at such an -"

"Crane?" Her tone became irritable. "It's two in the morning!"

"Yes, thank you for enlightening me." Unseen by the woman he spoke to, he bowed stiffly. "It is, alas, my unfortunate duty to inform you -"

"Is something wrong?" Alarm replaced irritation. "Just skip the BBC stuff and spit it out."

Leaving that remark to be deciphered at a later time, Ichabod gripped the phone in his hand tightly. "The Red Horse appeared before me at this hour on the hilltop above the lake."

There was a beat of silence. "Someone's riding a horse by the lake?" Head still fuzzy from interrupted sleep, Abbie tried to understand his remark.

"No, I -" Jaw clenched, Ichabod closed his eyes briefly and took another steadying deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and mesmerizing. "_And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.__"*_ The words faded into silence. "Are you familiar with that passage, Leftenent?"

"The second horseman." Her voice was clear, her head emptied of the last vestiges of sleep. "You saw the second horseman."

"I did."

"I'm on my way."

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_____(*Revelation 6:4 (KJV))_

_If my outline holds true, I expect five chapters to this story. I hope you'll stick around! :-)_

_Thanks for reading!  
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	2. Chapter 2

"So, this is where you saw him?" They stood on the hilltop, looking toward the lake that reflected the burnished glow of the rising sun. As she spoke, Abbie looked down at the ground at their feet. "No prints, except for yours," she mused thoughtfully.

"Which would indicate that we are, indeed, standing in the correct spot." Ichabod pointed into the west. "He rode in that direction."

"Did he have a head?" As if choreographed, Crane and Abbie turned together to look at Captain Irving. His chin rose. "Don't look at me like that," he said archly. "It's a reasonable question."

Ichabod nodded tersely. "The figure was hooded and I was unable to make out his features but, yes, I believe that he remained in possession of his head."

"So what does it mean?" Abbie asked. "Two more horses and I don't have to worry about paying off my student loans?" Before Crane could do more than glance at her with one imperially raised brow, she brushed aside the question she knew he was about to ask. "Never mind." Her eyes ran over him in a critical sweep. "Are your pants wet?"

Shoulders stiff, the former soldier looked every inch the 18th century nobleman as his nose rose into the air. "I suppose it was too much to hope that good manners would forbid the mention of my current state of dishabille."

"Lucky for you," Abbie shot back, "good manners do forbid me to allow you to catch your death of pneumonia. We need to get you some more clothes, Crane."

Since the same thought had been in his mind earlier, he reluctantly unbent. "That might be wise. If you could perhaps recommend a qualified tailor . . ."

"Tailor?" She smirked at the response. "I was thinking Target. There's a 24-hour store off Highway 9."

"I'll leave the shopping expedition to you," Irving said as he headed back down the hill. "See you both at the station later - and come prepared with ideas on how to deal with this new threat."

"I don't think they sell those," Abbie called to his disappearing back. When her comment was ignored, she sighed and turned back to Crane. "Okay, Emperor. Let's get you some new clothes."

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Ichabod remained quietly uncomfortable until Abbie parked her cruiser in the lot of the department store. "It appears I am forced once again to seek your financial assistance, Leftenent," he said quietly as he walked by her side across the pavement. "As I am unable to access my own funds and have no ready source of income in this new existence in which I find myself . . ."

She brushed his gratitude aside. "Don't worry about it. Tell you what," she smiled as, ever polite, he stood aside and waited for her to pass through the door first, "when we figure out how to send you back, you can leave me a copy of the Declaration of Independence in your will and we'll call it even."

"**If** we find a way to . . ." Ichabod's voice trailed off as he followed her inside and looked around. "Dear God," he breathed solemnly as he gazed open-mouthed at the wide variety of merchandise displayed. "How many villages are served by this establishment?"

"Just Sleepy Hollow." It was Abbie's turn to look discomfited as she, too, studied the retailer, this time through Crane's eyes. "Behold, the consumer society."

"If General Washington's armies had been given one-tenth of these supplies, the war might have ended years sooner . . ." His head swiveled back and forth as he followed Abbie deeper into the store. " . . . countless lives might have been saved . . ."

"Yes, well . . . I'm sure he did the best he could." She marched down an aisle until she found a shelving unit filled with denim jeans. "Anyway, here you go." Her sharp gaze ran over his lean form with keen assessment. "You look like, what? A 30? 28?" She thumbed through the stacks of neatly folded pants and pulled out two pair. "You can start with these," she said, as she thrust them into his arms.

Helpless against her efficiency, Ichabod followed silently behind as she continued a meandering path across the men's department, adding more clothing to his growing burden as she went. When she laid a soft, plastic wrapped package of boxer-briefs to the top of the stack, one eyebrow rose again.

"This garment is unacceptable," he said stiffly, after a quick, embarrassed glance at the photo on the front. "I can't possibly be seen in -"

She avoided looking at him. "Nobody sees them," she muttered. "They're, you know, underwear." At his blank look, she huffed out a sigh. "If you've been going commando, Crane, I don't even want to -"

They turned as one as the sound of shouting and the clearly discernible pop of gunfire was heard from the parking lot.

"What the . . ." Hand on her weapon, Abbie made a beeline for the doors.

Ichabod unceremoniously dropped the garments in his arms on top of a display of baseball caps and followed her.

Near the front of the barely-occupied parking lot, a violent scuffle was in progress.

"I had my blinker on!" The dark-suited middle-aged man spewed spittle as he screamed at a young woman standing at the rear of a white Lexus. As he spoke, he aimed the pistol in his hand and fired into one of the car's back tires.

The woman screamed and then, hands bent into claws, attacked him.

"You son of a bitch! You shot my car!"

Employees and customers swarmed out of the store, rushing past Abbie and Crane, yelling obscenities and threats as they, too, joined the melee.

Rubber squealed as vehicles pulled off the highway and roared to a stop. The other drivers were out in an instant, adding more bodies to the ever-growing scene of violence and mayhem.

Abbie quickly pulled out her phone and dialed 911.

"This doesn't make sense," she bit out over her explanation of the situation to the dispatcher. "There's plenty of parking . . ." Call made, she stuffed the phone into a pocket and, heedless of any danger she might be in, plunged into the middle of the chaos and tried to separate combatants. "SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT!" she yelled. "Stand down, all of you! Freeze!"

For several minutes, she and Ichabod struggled fruitlessly with the brawling mass. Their efforts to calm the situation went for naught as their shouted instructions were rebuffed or ignored and, instead of bringing the seething altercation to a halt, the crowd began to turn on them.

As sirens sounded in the distance, Abbie edged back, pulling Crane with her, and raised her gun high in the air. Before she could fire a warning shot, an elbow struck hard into her back. The gun clattered to the pavement and slid out of reach beneath a rain and mud splattered green Camry.

The creative stream of curses she loosed was, thankfully for Ichabod's still somewhat easily shocked sensibilities, lost beneath the noise made by the half-dozen marked police cruisers screaming into the parking lot. She had taken one step in their direction when his hand on her arm stopped her progress.

"Leftenent." His eyes burned hard into hers. "I fear this altercation was no mere happenstance."

She followed his gaze to a small stand of trees near the back exit of the property. There, on a horse that rippled with fire, sat the second horseman. He surveyed the carnage he'd created then, with a jerk of the reins, turned the animal's blazing head toward Abbie and Crane.

As they watched, he raised a sword high and loosed an unearthly howl that echoed across the acre of pavement that stretched between them. The malevolent sound silenced the fight remaining in the unruly crowd raised by his influence, as everyone turned to find the source of the cry.

With flames dancing around its flesh, the horse reared onto two legs then settled onto four feet, wheeled to the left, and was gone.

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_Thanks for reading!_


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